In Luminem Ambula: Rise of The Night Walkers
by ASimpleMind94
Summary: 'Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph' Noelle Mahealani, emerging into the supernatural world of Beacon Hills, begins to understand what these words truly mean. Potential Stiles/OC.
1. Prologue: The Night Walkers

_**While trying to work things over on my recently purchased I-Pad, something went awry and this story disappeared... So this is a re-post :) Although the story was previously 'Walk With Me', which I didn't particularly like as a title. Hence the new one.**_

_**But thankfully, this gives me the chance to edit as I go along since the first few chapters were in dire need of some editing. After a re-read I can edit the chapters.**_

* * *

_People are keen to forget that with great power, comes even greater responsibility. In a world where people are constantly pushing themselves to be special, craving a way to stand out from the crowd: Academic excellence, physical prowess or breath-taking beauty. These qualities come to define us, having profound effects on our lives. Intelligence may be the key to unlocking your greatest potential, achieving your aspirations; beauty will make grant you the admiration of many, opening a number of proverbial doors. But are these the true gateways to individuality?_

_Aptitude can result in arrogance, where people begin to resent or fear you rather than respect you. Physical splendour can blossom into an obsessive love or a misplaced sense of superiority. These assets may define us, but in excess they can become just as much of a danger than the blessing we perceive them to be. _

_This double edged sword becomes even sharper when you step away from the 'normal' world and wade into the tempestuous waters of the supernatural: A werewolf's strength and agility surpasses what people deem physically possible, but they become a slave to their own rage. Ruled by primitive instincts they can only ever hope to control, but the risk is always there; cursed to live in fear of hurting those closest to them._

_Banshees are often women of outstanding beauty, privy to the sacred knowledge of when death looms on the horizon. Yet what can they achieve with this knowledge? To know death is coming, but effectively powerless from saving their loved ones from the inevitable embrace of death. _

_The things are the way the cosmic balance is maintained. A set of rules that ensures that neither good nor evil becomes the prominent force in the Universe, that the fragile veil that exists between worlds remains intact; there are a number of forces at work to maintain the intricacy that is the cosmos. Druid emissaries are charged with influencing events so that those seeking to destroy the balance are unable to do so, neither good nor evil their primary concern exists outside of socially constructed 'morality' where the only concern is to ensure the delicate balance between light and darkness._

_Yet the endless battle between good and evil isn't confined to one plane of existence, the astral planes also host beings that can threaten the cosmos. Wandering spirits who aim is to shatter the veil, allowing evil in its purest form to manifest on the living plane. _

_And so the Huaka'I Po came to exist, the Night Walkers: Young women entrusted with the skill to flit between the planes of existence and communicate with the spirit world. These women are assigned the duty of guarding the veil, the one barrier holding bark the darkness of chaos from crashing into the living realm and escorting lost souls to their final resting place or banishing malevolent spirits to the Great Abyss…_

* * *

_**So this is the prologue…**_

_**The story will follow the life of Noelle Mahealani, Danny's paternal cousin, through the Teen Wolf canon although I may take creative liberties to suit the story.**_

_**But as always, remember to review! Next chapter will be posted in about 30 minutes once I've finished editing it**_

_**-Ornella**_


	2. When Things Start to Fall Apart

_**So the first chapter, it's a lengthy one but I hope you push through and read it :)**_

_**I didn't say this in the last chapter, but just so you know: I do not own Teen Wolf, if I did Stydia would have happened by now and all the men would spend the whole show topless. I'm looking at you O'Brien and Hoechlin. Alas, we can only dream.**_

_**Nor do I own the Oswin name, but I love 'Black Water' and its sequel so much I had to put it in somewhere… I hope that 'It Belongs In A Museum' can forgive me :/**_

* * *

_As far as the eye can see, there is only darkness. Darkness even the brightest light couldn't illuminate; an all consuming darkness. This place is a void, a void in which something is nothing and nothing is everything. An infinity unto itself. Closing my eyes, it feels as though I'm floating through space; words in a language I can't understand seem to seep from the space surrounding me._

_The languid chanting, lyrical yet haunting seems to reverberate through my body. The rhythm perfectly synchronized with each thrum of my heart, the melody seems to move my limbs without conscious thought. Swimming through the emptiness as the descant seems to wrap around me: The indecipherable words becoming a blanket of light in this eternal darkness. _

_I continue to move through the empty space, into this sea of nothingness. I continue on and on, without an apparent purpose or direction until I come to a pane of white material. It expands across the void; a bold splash of colour on a canvas of black. It casts a faint luminescent glow, shades of grey ripple against the harsh white background; undulating to a beat I cannot hear. The chanting seems to have diminished, I have to strain to hear the delicate inflection and as I reach towards the material the voices cease completely._

_As my fingers brush the material I realise there's something wrong, as first it was as soft as silk but as soon as my fingers made contact it stiffened and became more like marble. The feeling of foreboding seems to build within me; a shiver shoots down my spine. As I back away, the material begins to fracture and shadows take form on the surface until the material just dissipates like smoke in the wind and a bolt of white light shoots towards me._

* * *

Stumbling from my bed, I can still feel the apprehension that threatened to suffocate me in my dream: heart racing, short of breath and pouring with sweat. It feels like I've run the length of the Lacrosse pitch fifty times, the image of shattering marble still fresh in my mind. It's as though I can feel the ominous shadows from my dream looming over me like a guillotine.

The sound of the general hustle and bustle of my house does nothing to soothe my anxiety; somehow I can't quash the feeling that my dream is somehow seeping into my reality. I internally scold myself for my stupidity: Logically dreams can't manifest in reality, it's physically impossible, and the people who believe that they do are more often than not clinically insane.

Real life isn't something you find in the pages of a paranormal novel, but my instincts are warring with logic. My stomach knots with the distinct impression that something, something wrong, is at work. This something 'wrong' is operating in my peripheral, just out of sight but moving closer. I shake my head, realising I sound like the poster child for paranoia. My brain is obviously still sleep addled.

BANG! My bedroom door slams open, my heart lurches and I throw myself out of the way instinctively. My earlier musings of what is logical disappear as I expect a bolt of white light to be heading towards me, just like in my dream. Pain rattles through my left side as I slide across the floor. I scrunch my eyes closed as if it would make everything normal again.

"What the…"

I sit up, relief flooding through every fibre of my being. I look up to make sure this isn't my mind playing a trick on me or something and release a breath I hadn't even realised I had been holding, it was just Danny. My cousin was really a sight for sore eyes right about now. Leaning in my doorway with his eyebrows raised, surveying my room until he finds me curled up in the corner like a toddler afraid of the dark; not a flattering image whatsoever.

His eyes narrow in concern when I look up at him. I'm sure I look a mess with tears in my eyes, drenched in sweat and panting like a dog trapped in the backseat of a car in Death Valley but I can't help the smile that explodes onto my face. I'm pretty sure it's brighter than the sun.

Clambering to my feet, I trail over to my cousin like a dying man finding an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. I touch his face, taking a deep breath when I trace the sharp angle of his cheekbone with my index finger: He's real. Somehow, I feel liberated as I prod and poke my cousin's face like it's the most normal thing to do in the world. It's as if I've been welcomed back into the warm embrace of reality. Danny doesn't seem to share that feeling though; slapping at my hands and backing away, looking at me as if I'd just proposed running off to join the Peace Core; or a lesbian colony in Tribeca.

Whether or not I look like a mad woman, I throw my arms around him and bounce on the spot like an excited puppy. I know I look stupid, but I was being stupid: Dreams coming to life? Really? This isn't freaking Harry Potter. Danny returns my hug, his exotic features marred with confusion but as always he lets it slide.

I am well known for having my little 'moments', and every blames me being a teenage girl; which works for me. I prefer people thinking I was suffering from 'hormone induced madness' as the men of the Mahealani family call it. Sounds a lot better than, 'hey, time to ship me off to the nut house. I thought my dream was real and I was about to be blown to smithereens by a laser show'.

"So Noie, care to tell me why the Hell you looked like you'd seen a ghost. Or worse, Lydia without makeup? I mean, I don't think I'm too bad looking myself."

He mockingly preens himself, stroking his jawline with the back of his hand. It feels like a punch in the face when I'm reminded of my dream vacation to the Twilight Zone; I don't know what to say. My gut wrenches uncomfortably as I remember the harrowing melody that acted as the soundscape to my nightmare. Something about it was familiar, I just don't know what.

"You could say something like that."

Maybe I'd overreacted. Now that I was awake with my brain functioning in a relatively normal way, it struck me. Symbolism, the dream was a symbol for something else. My English teacher, Mr Gordon, would be pretty darn impressed that I've actually retained some form of knowledge from his mundane lectures. Seriously his voice made me want to go home and practice Concerto 666 on the blood violin.

The dream obviously meant something completely different from the impending doom I thought it meant initially, kind of like a baby being born means new beginnings or something. For all I know, it could have been a subconscious prompting to avoid monochrome like the plague this season; Lydia had been babbling on all about the 'it' trends last night on the phone. Danny must have seen the realisation dawning on my face, as he smirks and then wiggles his eyebrows like one of those creeps your Mom tells you to stay away from when you're young.

"Were you having a good dream, you little minx? Were you dreaming about doing the deed with some handsome stranger, and I interrupted as you were about to reach the…"

Out of nowhere, I am being serenaded with a horrifying rendition of Usher's 'Climax'. Trust the teenage boy to think everything is about sex, and let me tell you that it's even worse if said teenage boy was gay: They're always thinking with a particular appendage specific to the male sub-species. I put a stop to it pretty quickly, before he decided to pull out his 'grinding' moves that are more than enough cause to warrant an arrest for lewd conduct in public or cause me significant psychological harm. Not even Bill Gates could afford the therapy bills.

"No Daniel, unlike you my every waking or in this case sleeping thoughts don't revolve around sex. Unfortunately, Orlando Bloom was conspicuously absent from my dream last night, and if I'm being honest I don't even know what I was dreaming about. But…if I had to hazard a guess I would say it was 101 to murder your annoying cousin without getting caught. And in case you were wondering it was very informative."

Danny just places his hand against his chest in mock horror, whining about how I don't love him which eventually leads to our infamous argument about whether or not you can love someone without actually liking them. You can by the way, case and point being that Danny is family so I love him by default but he definitely pisses me off more than most people. We end up sitting on my bed, with my head in his lap

My chats with Danny could be described as 'interesting', which is why I can tolerate his presence even if he likes to play the role of the 'Golden Child' in the Mahealani family. Between discussing why on Earth Hayley Webster decided to dye her hair a garish shade of orange and who would win in a hypothetical battle between Wolverine and Spiderman, my money is always on Wolverine since Hugh Jackman is one fine piece of man candy, I realise Danny is at my house. On a Saturday. I'm sure there's a law written somewhere about not coming to harass relatives on weekends without express permission. Permission that he most certainly didn't get from me.

"Danny you know I love you and our cousinly chats about complete shit; but would you please enlighten me as to why you are at my house. On a Saturday morning? And most importantly, before freaking noon"

Danny doesn't respond, he just stares at me like I am missing something glaringly obvious. The only thing I am missing is lounging around the house, something I tend to do every Saturday: He looks expectant, as if I'm going to be divinely blessed with the knowledge as to why he's sat on my bed rather than asleep in his own.

He laughs out loud upon catching sight of my nonplussed expression, which is rude and totally deserves a punch in the gut. Once Danny has recovered from the kidney jab he decides to take pity on me; gesturing at what he's wearing. A black wife beater and black leggings, if he wanted fashion advice he should've gone to see Lydia but even I know that 'meggings' are a crime against fashion. Danny sighs in exasperation, a sound I'm all too familiar with, when he realises I still don't comprehend what he's trying to say with his masculine version of a black cat suit.

"Humm…you know Noelle, that dance rehearsal? For that recital in about two weeks. Thought you might've remembered since all you've done this last week is whine constantly about it being criminal that you're having to rehearse on a Saturday morning, or how you wish that Madame Harrington would choke on her own spit."

Shit. It's like I'm having an out of body experience as my body reacts before my mind; I fly through my bedroom like Lydia at Macy's Black Friday sale. Throwing random dance equipment through the air; I don't even react as Danny laughs, and any worries that plagued me about my earlier dream vanish as I imagine the gruesome fate awaiting me if I were late for rehearsals. Diving under my bed to try and retrieve a pointe shoe that I'm 98.6% sure was there the previous evening.

"Looking for this?"

I turn to shout at Danny, not needing him to piss around while I suffer another mini-breakdown. Hanging on his index finger is my pointe shoe; I race over and begin thanking him profusely before snatching it from him and throwing the shoe into my dance bag that had miraculously appeared on my bed. I let a satisfied grin settle on my face when I realise everything is packed. Sparing a glance at the alarm clock that lords over me from its perch on my bedside table, I'm pretty sure I would've gone into cardiac arrest if my body wasn't still running on auto-pilot. I throw off my pyjamas and I'm about to unhook my bra when I hear a disgusted scoff.

"Could we please remain fully clothed until the gay man has left the room?"

I look at my cousin over my shoulder, covering his eyes like a child. I just throw my bra at him, internally jumping for joy when he squeals like a banshee. Streams of expletives erupt from Danny, reminding me of Pompeii as he runs for the door and then slams it with unnecessary force. I don't know what his problem is, he's gay: It's not as if he would even look, when I tell him this I'm pretty sure I can hear his eyes roll. Someone needs to warn him that he could suffer from repetitive strain injury from constantly rolling his eyes.

"No, I wouldn't ogle you like a sex starved pre-teen but it would still be mentally scarring. You're my cousin for God's sake, and in case you haven't noticed: I am not big on the whole incest thing."

I just flip him the bird as he stands in my doorway, still covering his eyes like he expects me to strip completely and start doing the Macarena. Not that I have any time to spare, even for something as worthwhile as inflicting indescribable mental anguish on the Golden Boy. So instead I spare a few seconds to throw him one of my famous quips.

"I forgot that you suffered from gynophobia; please find it in your heart to forgive me. And my vagina."

I fasten my sports bra and I'm trying to get into my leotard that is criminally tight, consciously ignoring my irate cousin as he calls me a long list of names that would give his mother heart failure. Pulling my hair up I check myself out in the mirror: Going off the bases that I'm pretty blessed in the looks department. But that's more than enough to suffice; some of the people in our dance class are unfortunate enough to look like they've been viciously beaten with the ugly stick.

But for my own standards I look like death warmed up, allowed to go cold and then microwaved. My chocolate coloured hair looks as though it hasn't seen shampoo in the last month; the tight bun does nothing to lessen my resemblance to Severus Snape. My almond shaped eyes, usually a pleasant shade of hazel are puffy in a way that screams: 'Yes, I did wake up stupidly late…and yes, I almost missed this rehearsal'. I apply a coat of Carmex to my full lips, as if I'd made a bit of effort; thanking whichever deity was listening in for the Mahealani bone structure.

No matter how bad I look, my angular cheekbones and delicate jawline means I never fall below a 6 on Lydia Martin's physical attractiveness scale. Sounds ridiculous, but some people are stupid enough to take the scale as gospel: I laugh to myself when I remember Cassidy Kane crying hysterically when her jock boyfriend dumped her for being a 4 on the scale. Looking back at the clock which seems to be counting down to my demise at the hands of Madame Harrington I pick up my bag and run for the door; totally ignoring my cousin as I pass him. Why is it that whenever you're waiting for something time seems to come to a complete still, but whenever you're late for something to seconds tick by at light speed? Eh?

"This is a big bowl of suck, sucky suck suck. I mean, I haven't even got time for breakfast. Or coffee, shit I am going to die. I trust you to write my eulogy."

I continue to rant about my upcoming death, pausing to stare longingly at the kitchen where my Mom is baking. The tragedy of it all, I almost cry when I catch scent of her famous orange and cranberry muffins. This is an injustice, screw the recital I want food. Before I can flee to the kitchen, Danny grabs my shoulders and steers me towards the door. As the door slams behind us, I round on my cousin giving him a glare that has made grown men cry; but Danny seems unaffected as he shrugs his shoulders and unlocks his car door.

"Now if you hurry up, I'm sure that I can stretch to afford a Starbucks for my cousin. You know, since I love her and I am dragging her to a dance rehearsal."

The conversation ends there. Free coffee? I'm there. I jump into the car, a sudden burst of energy coursing through my veins in anticipation for the promised caffeine. All thoughts of my weird ass dream disappear as I fixate on coffee, Danny chuckles as he slides into the driver's seat. Damn him and his junior licence.

"Pedal to the metal Mahealani, to infinity and a grande caramel macchiato with extra cream."

* * *

As we pull away from Starbucks my mood has definitely improved as I chug down my macchiato with more gusto than dumb jocks at a frat party. Literally, I'm sure that when people refer to the elixir of life; they're talking about coffee. The caramel goodness elicits a moan from me that would definitely raise people's eyebrows if heard in a different context. I'm about to bless Danny with my renowned soliloquy that addresses why coffee is crucial to the survival of the human race, or more specifically anyone who crosses me in a morning pre three cups of coffee.

Danny is babbling on about something or other, but seriously he shouldn't be expecting me to listen to him when I have more important things to consider: Namely, anything other than what Danny is talking about. Suddenly the song on the radio changes; I hum along with the melody while Danny continues to rant about something. Doesn't he remember the golden rule of keeping both hands on the wheel at all times? I hum louder and louder until I realise exactly where I know the tune from.

That bloody dream, you've got to be kidding me. The distinctive cadence echoes in my head, I just turn the radio up in a vain attempt to drown it out but it seems to get louder and louder. My heart begins to race, until we pull up at a stop sign; Danny turns the radio off. Turning to look at me clearly affronted; right now though I couldn't care less, I'm more concerned with the music that seems to be following me everywhere like a foreshadowing device in a low budget 80's horror movie.

"You know, I've been trying to tell you what went down at Jungle last night and all you've done is slurp on that coffee-which I brought by the way, your welcome- and stare at the radio as if you want it to explode. Yeah, that song sucked and you decided to turn it up. What the Hell? You could've changed the station or something."

My cousin just looks at me, his features twisted in a comical mix of confusion and annoyance. I feel like a bit of a douche, it's not his fault that I have an overactive imagination or that I let it run away with me. Okay, from this second Noelle Mahealani is forgetting the dream and getting on with her real life which is more than stressful enough on its own. Step one though, I turn and fix Danny with a sickly sweet smile.

"Why, I am ever so sorry dearest cousin. But I am sure that I can survive without hearing about the debaucheries of the Beacon Hills gay community. But if you ever need to go to the clap clinic after pulling a trick, all you've got to do is ask and I will be there; to not so silently judge you and collect blackmail material for future use."

Smirking I begin to chew my thumbnail. Danny is shocked speechless, his jaw askew as he drives through Beacon Hill with his mouth moving but not forming words. We drive along in silence, me silently rejoicing at my ability to shut anyone up. Eventually Danny manages to reacquire his tongue from which ever cat ran away with it.

"You dirty bitch."

Well, well: Danny is definitely PMSing. I throw my hand to my chest in faux pain, wiping away an imaginary tear; I just shake my head at his poor response. I'm a 16 year old girl, who's pretty but doesn't spread her legs like butter: I've been called a lot worse than that and Danny knows it. To be honest, Danny is being a right hypocrite: Anyone else calls me a bitch and he's down their throat quicker than it takes for me to think of a witty barb.

"Daniel Mahealani, I simply refuse to believe that your parents would have raised you to speak to ladies in such a manner. Using course language, it's ever so unbecoming in a man of your age."

I continue to tut at him like those old ladies on the bus; you know the ones who just whine about everything but still find it acceptable to be seen in public with a blue rinse. Go figure. Danny though just mutters to himself, and I'm pretty sure he is thinking of ways he could kill me and stage it as an accident; or describing the numerous ways he would kick my ass if I had something dangling between my legs.

"Well, you know what Noelle. It's all good because you're hardly a lady."

Poor comeback, Danny, poor. I roll my eyes as he smiles to himself returning his eyes to the road. I fold my arms across my chest and stare out of the window; time to teach Danny how a real strop is thrown. We drive along in silence, both of us too stubborn to talk to the other until Danny breaks that is.

On the inside I am rolling around laughing at the inevitability of it all: Danny has many talents, far more than me but holding grudges isn't one of them. He just begins to talk, deliberately trying to bait me into conversation. I mean who doesn't like discussing the unsavoury things they'd do to Ian Somerhalder, but I stand firm; turning up the volume on his radio and filling the car with the latest musical travesty crafted by Justin Bieber.

See, the lengths I go to try and teach people a lesson: Subjecting myself to the 'Biebs' and the monstrous sounds he calls music. I'm practically a martyr. Danny continues to try and make conversation for the duration of our journey to the dance studio, and I pointedly ignore him. Smirking to myself as I hear the sound I've been waiting for, that huff of resignation. Well played Daniel, but your conviction failed you yet again.

"Okay, I shouldn't have said that No. I feel like a jerk, please forgive me yada yada yada."

Ah, how sweet is the sound of apology? And I really do admire Danny for attempting to come off as flippant, I really do. But I know my cousin, and his fatal flaw is that the boy can't be insincere; plus, he's uber-sensitive and can't bare anyone being in a bad mood with him.

Of course there are exceptions to the rule, the dork king himself 'Stiles' Stilinksi being amongst the chosen few; unfortunately I'm not and he wouldn't risk pissing me off. Well, permanently anyway. I turn, wiping away a non-existent tear; but when I see him pouting like a beaten puppy I can't stop myself pointing and laughing in a way I hope appeared dignified.

Realising that I've been playing him like a rusty banjo he shoves me out of the car, rather roughly I might add. The only logical response? Hitting him with my bag once he walks around the car to join me, the situation then dissolves to utter chaos. He shoves me, I shove him back and we bicker like we're four years old. I am not ashamed to admit I called him a 'complete butt head'.

"Danny, Noelle."

The fighting ceases instantly. Danny and I both turn to wave at the new arrival: Jason Rayson. He is hot, with a capital h; seriously blue eyes, blond hair and an ass that looks like it's been carved from solid rock. It's a shame, the boy is beautiful and his gene pool is something I wouldn't mind taking a leisurely swim in; unfortunately he plays for Danny's team. Lucky bastard.

The sad thing is, he and Danny even look good together: Both tall and lean but with contrasting features; while Danny has dark eyes, hair and skin. Jason has blonde hair, blue eyes and skin like porcelain. Life is so unfair, and as a teenager I reserve the right to say that. I chance a glance at my cousin to find that his olive skin has become tinged with a rosy hue. Aww, little Danny has a crush and it is my God given right to embarrass him in situations; I do wait for Jason to disappear inside the studio beforehand though, I'm not that cruel.

"So Danny boy, what was it you were trying to tell me about Jungle again? Let me take a wild guess, was it how you wanted to see Jason's wild side eh? How you wanted to pounce on him like a lioness on the hunt and take a bite out of that delectable…"

My hilarious comment is cut short when Danny shoves past me and heads towards the studio. But that doesn't stop me seeing how his face is now a putrid shade of puce, I'm worried I might have to perform the Heimlich if he gets any redder; still doesn't stop me cackling and making kissy faces as I follow him into the studio.

* * *

I might whinge about being dragged from my beloved bed to come for this dance rehearsal, and I stand by that: My teacher may or may not be Satan reincarnate and my muscles may feel like they've been drenched in gasoline and set alight. But, I do love to dance and surprisingly I'm good at it; Danny is too, but that doesn't count since he is one of those annoying people who seem to excel at everything.

Every beat of the music resonates through me as my body moves between a series of positions. Grande jete into arabesque, pas de chat, piqué turns en manège, flowing through the cou-de-pied, retiré, and attitude positions sinuously. For me it's easy, and it tends to mean that I never face the full wrath of Harrington; plus it's entertaining to see people attempt to do what comes so naturally to me. Plus, every girl loves having her ego stroked.

"Goodness me, Jennifer when we leap we attempt to leave the ground. You dance like an elephant in stilettos, if you're technique doesn't improve soon then I will have to ask you to stop attending my lessons. It truly is an eyesore, maybe you would be suited to a different level of difficulty: Beginners maybe?"

Burn. Harrington is a bitch, but she does it so well. Her timeless face, reminiscent of the Hollywood golden girl Berlinda Carlisle without the nice attitude, remains stoic as she comments on peoples technique and shreds their self-confidence to miniscule pieces. Plus, nobody like Jennifer Orton: She is a grade A bitch who may or may not be riddled with venereal diseases. Scratch that, the girl is toe up, from the floor up making me want to throw up with her skankiness. Harrington spends a few more moments ripping people to pieces, providing me with a comedic commentary of my peers, when she tires of watching 'invalids attempt to embrace the art of dance' in her own words.

"Prepare to rehearse the pas de deux, I have no more time to watch you butcher the sacred techniques of ballet dancers."

Obviously, I head towards Danny. My cousin can piss me off like nobody's business, but we are always partners: Like I said, dance is one of the things I do well and Danny is the only one who can keep up. Harsh but definitely true. I am soft and expressive, while he is strong and elegant, a perfect recipe for staying on Harrington's good side. When I arrive beside him, his eyes are glued to Jason's delightful derriere while he stretches; usually I'd make a snarky jibe but I join him in admiring the perfection. We sigh in perfect synchronization as he leans forward, what I wouldn't give for him to be straight.

"Okay, he's ass in perfect. But, Harrington's out for blood today. Partners?"

He nods his affirmative and we're off. Gracefully we glide along the studio floor, Danny lifts me with ease and my arms are in the correct positions: People actually stare as we go through the complex choreography as easily as breathing. It's a ginormous cliché, but when I'm dancing I feel like I'm walking on air. I have no inhibitions as I leap through the air and twirl effortlessly. It pains me to admit it, but my cousin is the perfect partner: Supporting me flawlessly, sustaining me while I'm in the air. I can't help but feel smug as I watch the other dancers struggle, but I try not to rub it in too much: I'm best friends with Lydia, so I know what inferiority feels like. Seeing our report cards side by side is just painful.

As we continue to dance literal circles around everybody else, a feeling of uneasiness settles in my stomach. That chilling feeling when you know someone is watching you; and not in the sense of other dancers admiring my talent. As I come out of a pirouette something catches my eye, or more appropriately: Somebody catches my eye.

She's standing outside the studio, which isn't all too unfamiliar. Every so often people come and watch us as we practice, but she is staring right at me and not in the admiring way that I'm used to, the fact her beautiful face remains completely emotionless tells me this. I pause to watch her, there's something off about the woman: She doesn't belong here. It sounds harsh, but my instincts are screaming those very words at me.

The woman is exquisite there's no denying that fact, with pale skin and long black hair that falls in delicate waves past her shoulders. But her most striking feature are her piercingly green eyes; the very eyes that are trained on me like a hawk would watch their pray. Her black attire of leather jacket, skinny jeans and biker boots scream bad ass; but I can't help but hear the silent plea. It's as if she needs me, a totally irrational thought, but as her green eyes soften I know it's true. Her thin lips curl into a grateful smile and she reaches towards me, I find my own hand reaching towards her as if I'm in a trance.

CRASH! I'm sent flying across the floor. Danny had tried to leap past me, but I was distracted and so he leapt into me instead. Danny jumps up, apologising profusely as he pulls me to my feet. I reassure him that nothing is broken, although I am certain I'll be waking up to a massive bruise on my hip tomorrow; I look around him, trying to catch the eye of the woman but she's gone.

"Noelle, you okay? I'm sorry, I should've looked where I was going."

I hold my hand up, effectively silencing him. My eyes remain fixed on the spot where the woman was standing moments ago. Where did she disappear to? Danny follows my eye line; he looks completely nonplussed as he stares at the empty spot. Before I can mention the fact I might be potentially imagining women appearing outside, Harrington rushes over.

I think she might've scolded us, I wasn't really listening. But I can tell you she was shocked, me and Danny are her 'talented individuals'; she seems concerned that I might've hurt myself coming up to the recital. In her eyes, that is a crime; after making checking my ankle and making me go on pointe to show that I'm fit she gives me an approving nod and makes us begin again.

As me and Danny are dancing I catch people's sneers, the golden couple's fall from grace. And so, I push any thoughts of Miss. Green Eyes from my mind and begin to dance as if I have a point to prove; which I do. Reminding everyone that I'm the top dog in this dance studio, and I can't help but smirk as Harrington claps after me and my cousin are the only ones to complete the choreography of the bridge without flailing like a fish out of water.

* * *

After cementing our place at the top of the hypothetical pyramid, we're dismissed from dance. I can't help but smile like the cat that got the cream as I hear everyone else whining about how hard the choreography is. But without my mission to prove my dancing superiority to distract me, my thoughts are free to wonder to that woman. Her green eyes, they were so expressive: If only I knew what she was trying to say.

Either way, I've decided that I am just going to forget about the whole thing. I haven't got time for musing over what a nameless woman might be thinking, especially when she randomly appears at the dance studio. Now that I've had time to think about it, I've decided the whole appearing at the window thing is pretty weird and maybe even borderline stalker-ish. Or even worse, some form of Wuthering Heights reference that nobody has time for.

"So you needing a lift? I'm heading over to Jackson's so I can drop you off on the way."

It takes me a moment to respond, mainly due to me preoccupation with my potential green eyed stalker. I smile as I see Danny looking at me, the boy annoys me to death, well metaphorically, but my I do appreciate that he actually cares about me. But the fact remains I have shopping to do, green eyes or not, because if I turn up to school in something 'last season' there is a high probability that Lydia will murder me. And I don't fancy being murdered, just to let people know.

"It's alright Dan, I'm gonna hit the shops. Do some shopping and all that crap, I've got shit loads to get before school so I may as well do it now. I'll text Mom to pick me up later. And I suppose I'll be seeing your stupid ass tomorrow."

We share the customary air kiss, and I wish him luck practicing with Jackson. Who is a complete asshole by the way, yes he may have redeeming qualities but his narcissism cancels it all out. I have no time to ponder how one person could be so self-obssessed, I have shit to do: Namely, buying clothes to appease Lydia. That girl can be like a miniature Hitler if your fashion sense isn't on point. Why is she my best friend again?

"I'm fine Danny. I'm going to go shopping, you know stationary and all that shit: Most likely a shit tonne of clothes so Lydia hasn't got a reason to moan. But yeah, I'll phone Mom to come and get me. Anyways, I will be seeing your fine ass tomorrow for our 'back to school movie extravaganza'".

* * *

Finally I had gotten the bare essentials for school, stationary and textbooks mainly, because I genuinely need to pass this year. So with my spare change I do what any girl would do, I hit the boutiques like a wrecking ball. Because if I'm being frank, I don't arrive at school on the first day looking flawless, then there is a definite possibility that I will be brutally murdered by Lydia. See, as my best friend likes to remind me on a regular basis, there is no second chance at making a first impression: So sweatpants, however much I may love them and however comfortable they may be, are not an option.

I'm in the Oswin boutique and as always I've found a dress that is perfect. Literally, Melody Oswin should be declared a Goddess to the fashion world: No matter who your are, you can find the perfect thing to wear in The Oswin Boutique. For me, I've found a coral coloured dress with a plunging neckline and a skirt that flares out slightly just above the knee, it might be daring but somehow it's me.

The colour compliments my skin tone, making my honey toned skin more prominent,so that's one pro before we even move onto the thing fits. The neckline takes advantage of the fact I have breasts; they are the bane of my life as a dancer but it doesn't annoy me to say that I am blessed, truly blessed, in the bust department. Either way, the dress fits like a silk glove, twirling in the mirror only proves that point. Until I spot 'Green Eyes' staring at me in the mirror, of course, I seriously don't know how to feel about the ordeal or what the Hell I am supposed to do; but my worries are vanquished when I turn around and realise the woman has vanished, yet again.

"I must be going crazy."

Yes, talking to yourself is the first sign on madness but with everything that's happened today I think I may have earned the right to question my sanity. But that's not the point right now, random woman who appears from nowhere and do nothing but stare at me is not my biggest priority. So I do the obvious thing, I ring up my purchases and leave the shop: That dress does make me look awesome, so if I stretched my budget a little bit then it's okay. Walking onto the main street I send a text to Mom so she doesn't get worried, a seriously annoying habit of hers:

_Yo Mama, just finished shopping so I'll be heading home soon. Just gonna grab something to eat first because I'm starving… I'll head home afterwards. See yas later. Love, Noelle. P.S: You better have saved me some muffins. Dance has killed me and I be needing my sugar fix xoxo_

Hitting the send button I look up and almost die: 'Green Eyes' is standing directly opposite me, her gaze as piercing as ever. Like, why is this day turning into a complete shit storm? I'm sorry but I really don't have the time for any of this. So I do what any sane individual would do in response to something they don't understand, I run. Running into a crowd of oncoming people, I am well aware that I might attract a few odd looks but I really don't give a shit; I run through them as though I'm looking for a cure to a terminal illness, until the crowds finally disperse and I can run freely.

I run like I'm Ussain Bolt on steroids. Pushing through people until there is nobody left to push; I keep running, to put as much distance between me and this green eyed woman as possible. I look behind as I slow to a jog, fortunately the streets are empty and I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Well I would've if I wasn't living in fear of spontaneously going into cardiac arrest. My chest is pounding and I'm panting like a dog in heat so I duck into an alleyway to catch my breath.

Pulling my hair from its bun, I couldn't help but feel an immense sense of 'release'; blaming the endorphin from my random sprint before I collapse against the alley's wall. I don't even care that it's covered in a substance I'm pretty sure could be hazardous to my health. Seriously, why the floof would someone feel the need to stalk me? I'm not even special. My reflections come to a standstill when I look up to see Miss Green Eyes herself standing there without a care in the world. Okay, maybe I am worth stalking in some weird way.

"Don't scream"

What the fuck, if I wasn't scared for my life right now I would laugh. Seriously, who tells a person not to scream when they're some random apparition who appears from nowhere? Exactly. Please just let me choke on the world's biggest cliché, I would've said something along those lines until she kicks the dumpster in a way that tells me she wouldn't mind kicking me if she thought it necessary. Shit, I thought the bitch was a figment of my imagination and boom she appears in reality and starts kicking things in a way that I perceive to be threatening. What the floofleberry does she want?

"I don't know what you want. I've got my cell and a bit of spare change. Literally, take what you want but please…just don't hurt me."

I know I sound like a coward, and I hate that fact but if acting like the World's biggest pussy means I don't get knocked silly then I can deal with it. However, my green eyed assailant looks aggrieved, as if I'm missing out on something and I really don't want to sound like Diva but for goodness sake: What am I missing out on? If she doesn't want to mug me what does she want to do? Knit sweaters? What am I meant to do if she is one of those creeps who just want to murder somebody? I'm shit at self-defence; maybe I should just punch her in the face and hope. I've heard 'hit and hope' is a big thing across the pond.

"I'm not here to mug you, I just need your help."

What? Help, is this woman stupid? Not that I'd say that out loud since she looks like she could decimate me without breaking a sweat. But seriously, if you need help there is a long list of people you should 'stalk' for answers before you come to me. Lydia for example, you need fashion advice or anything like a breakdown of some weird ass theorem of geometry and she's the girl for you. How the Hell does one phrase that to a potentially murderous person?

"Ummm…I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think I'm the person to help you. But I can probably help you find someone to help or something."

I genuinely flinch when her eyes flash, I genuinely would've taken a step back if my legs decided to actually do their job. Bullshit, if my legs were deciding to be compliant I would've sprinted like a bitch; instead I take a deep breath and situate my feet shoulder width apart, ready for a fight if it becomes necessary. I would just punch her, I genuinely would but she looks as confused as me. Obviously that makes me even more confused which seems impossible, she pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger before offering a response.

"I need your help to pass on, so please cut this bullshit."

Pass on? Seriously what does she need to pass, I'm not a genius but it looks as though she's well beyond the high school syllabus; physically anyway. Shit, she must be one of 'those people'; you know the ones who are stuck in High School years after they should've graduated. Either way, let's be honest I'm not the pinnacle of academic achievement: If she needed help passing something there's another long list of people she should've contacted before me.

"Pass on what exactly? I mean, I'm failing geometry and a bunch of other shit… literally, I can't help."

The woman just glares at me as if I've offended her. It kind of pisses me off, I mean I've tried to help her and she looks at me like I've just drop kicked a new born child in the face. Well, you know what? Screw her; she can fail in whatever it is she's on about for all I care. This is why I follow Lydia's code of conduct, however stupid it might sound to some people: It never results in dealing with potentially aggressive people. And I'm not lying when I say this woman is starting to look particularly murderous.

"You stupid girl, I don't need help with something as stupid as school work. I need you to guide me to the other plane."

What? What the fuck is the other plane? Seriously if she's into LSD and magic mushrooms and all that hallucinogenic bullshit, that's her business. But I'm seriously starting to get ticked off; I make sure my feet are shoulder width apart: Screw it, if needs be I'll just punch and run and if my legs don't work then I'm screwed. Little miss broody just looks at me and realises something.

"If you can see me then you're a Night Walker, right?"

What? It's just my luck. Bump into the druggie who is living in some parallel universe. Seriously, how do you react in this situation? I mean 'Night Walkers', I'm not a freaking hooker. She obviously catches onto my obliviousness; shaking her head and addressing herself.

"Not much is known about the Night Walker, and if I can't tell you then maybe I can show you."

I have no clue what she means, but her growing sense of conviction scares me. Does she want to sell me into the sex trade or something? She suddenly reaches towards me, and being the rational human being I am: I jerk away from her outstretched hand, sending a silent thank you to my legs for finally deciding to work. But my attempt at backing away fails like I failed freshman algebra.

As soon as she touches my skin, all sense of rational thought is destroyed. Pain rips into me like a savage animal; a searing pain rushing through me as if my stomach has been torn in two. My vision blurs, but that's not the worst pain: the bitter sense of betrayal and shock is the most poignant thing that runs through me before everything explodes into stars and I sink into oblivion.

* * *

_**What did we think? Of Noelle, Danny?**_

_**Who do we think this mysterious woman is? It's not particularly difficult but cookies for everyone who guesses.**_

_**Now, you've got a sample of Noelle as a character and her inner 'voice'… who do you think she'd be good with relationship wise? I can't decide, I love Stiles, Derek, Issac and maybe even some weird courtship with Peter until she turns 18. **_

_**You know the drill, review and let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to see. **_

_**Next chapter will be Noelle and the mystery lady trying to sort this mess out.**_

_**-Ornella **_


	3. Gateway I: Denial and Discoveries

_**So, this I just blitzed through. A third update, since it was pre-written. I've changed a few words here and there, the description and Noelle's inner monologue is probably too much but I'm gonna retain it in chapters I have already done so that readers get a better feel for who she is as a character :)**_

* * *

I crash land back into reality; my whole body aches as though I have run ten marathons, and not a school cross-country marathon. Oh no, I mean full on marathons like the ones in London or New York. And the cherry on top of this proverbial shit sundae is that I'm lying on the floor. That's just wonderful; the bitch had mugged me after whatever it is that she did to me in the alley: So much for needing my help. What help was that again? Oh yeah, using me as a freaking punching bag. Forcing my eyes open I take in my surroundings and I ask myself two questions: Where the Hell am I? And how did I get here? They seem pretty fitting since I have absolutely no idea where I am.

The first thing I register is the blinding fluorescent light, covering my eyes I try to look for an escape route or a bus stop, anything that could get me as far away from this place as humanly possible and closer to home. I knew I shouldn't have gone to dance, then I wouldn't have been kidnapped and I could've stayed home and stuffed my face; like every other Saturday. If I ever see Danny again then I am going to kick him so hard in the balls, that he'll be wearing his testicles as ear rings.

This place is giving me the creeps, seriously. It has the whole horror movie setting vibe. A long hallway that disappears into the distance, the walls a stark white that reflects light to make it appear as if the whole place is shrouded in a luminescent glow: It reminds me of a hospital, a deserted hospital which definitely contributes to the creepy factor. Everything is too clean, too white. The white is broken up by a series of black doors, spread periodically along both walls. I look behind me and almost shit myself.

There's the bitch that kidnapped me, standing there as bold as brass: Gazing around in complete wonderment, a small smile gracing her thin lips. She doesn't seem concerned at all, trailing her fingers along the white walls: Why isn't she concerned? We're in the middle of well, anywhere. And why on Earth is she so happy, I mean kidnapping a minor is hardly a happy occasion. I wouldn't be smiling at the possibility of being incarcerated; because I swear down that I will make sure this nut job is put behind bars. Or in an asylum, both seem fitting right about now.

"So this is the Gateway?"

I avert my gaze as she gestures around us, I've read about Stockholm syndrome and I'll be damned if she infects me with it or whatever it is that makes people so idiotic that they actually like the person holding them against the will. Honestly, I couldn't give a flying fart where we are or whatever this 'Gateway' is; my number one priority is getting out of here. Seriously this bright light is starting to give me a migraine. I push myself onto my feet, my legs feel like jelly but I straighten myself out. I pull my dance bag from my shoulder, more than ready to wield it as a weapon.

"Excuse me, Miss whatever your name is. I don't give a fuck about any Gateways, so I strongly suggest that you take me home. Let me remind you that you're holding a minor captive without their consent: Yeah I said it, a minor. Shit like that carries a pretty lengthy jail sentence."

I would've continued to chew the bitch out; somehow my brain has reached the conclusion that I'm a lot braver than I actually am. Seriously, it's like my subconscious is trying to get me killed with this case of verbal diarrhoea but it's pretty damn cathartic. But the wind is shot from my sails when she starts laughing; I might not be the most intimidating of people standing at only 5'5'' but I'm pretty sure I missed the memo of when going to prison suddenly became a laughing matter.

"You brought us here Night Walker, even if I wanted to get out of here: I couldn't. You brought me to the Gateway, so let's hurry this along: How do I pass onto the next plane?"

What the…? It's like she is speaking Russian or something. Am I hearing this right? I brought her here? She is seriously on crack or something. I might have stupid ideas a lot of the time, but even I wouldn't knock myself out and drag a woman about a foot taller to some unknown location: It's not just stupid, it's impossible. Disbelief radiates from me, I'm completely clueless about this whole messed up situation: Green eyes just shakes her head at me. Quirking her eyebrow in exasperation, I don't know how she did that: But she's very clearly exasperated.

"Now listen closely. Have you ever heard of the Huaka'I Po?"

She nods at me slowly like I'm a petulant child she's having to correct or something. I would be offended that she's speaking to me as though I'm mentally challenged. Her words oozing with patronization, but at least she's shut up about this 'passing on' business for now. Surprisingly, I do know about the Huaka'I Po and I would laugh at the relieved expression on her face when she clocks the fact I actually understand something that's come out of her mouth.

They're called the 'Night Marchers', so Little Miss in the know is obviously not as in the know as she thinks she is. Granddad used to tell Danny and I tales about the spirits of warriors who would march around burial sites, killing anyone they crossed and there was something else: Something to do with Gods. And also, something to do with escorting lost souls to the spirit world. Okay, this is just great; so maybe she knows a little something. But women aren't Night Marachers and it's all just some old Hawaiian folk tale.

"You're wrong you know. Just because I might have a Hawaiian father, doesn't mean I know anything about whatever it is you're going on about; hate to burst your bubble but none of it is real. An old wives tale that teaches you to respect the dead, or not fear death: I'm not entirely sure… but you know what. I can tell you exactly how I'm not a Night Marcher; yes they're called marchers not walkers. I don't have a penis, nor have I died in some battle. Now thank you, you can take me home now."

She looks like I've punched her right in the face, it's kind of funny but I keep a neutral expression on my face. I might not know her name but I think I'm right in assuming she's starting to catch onto the idea that I have about as much time for her 'Night Walker' delusions as I do for people who have poor personal hygiene. None whatsoever, for people who are not aware of that little bit of information. The corner of her mouth tilts down, she looks disheartened to say the least. Thankfully, I'm not a 'people pleaser' and have no motivation to indulge her or her delusions. Maybe me signing her a reality cheque will convince her to take me back home or just the general Beacon Hills vicinity, I'm not fussed.

"I don't know much about the Night Walkers: They're legends amongst legends. You're a legend amongst legends, but will you listen to what I know and actually consider what I'm saying?"

Although it's always good for one's ego to be referred to as a legend, her attempts at buttering me up so I play along with her fantasy world fall on deaf ears. I just shrug my shoulders, gesturing her to go on with her spiel: I mean that's the least I can do right? Since she abducted me, dragged me wherever we are and then tried to pin it on me. This 180 in the mood department is going to give me some cerebral whiplash or something. Plus, I still stand by the fact that this woman is unpredictable and I'm sure there are a million proverbs about not poking dragons. Basic point being: Don't piss off someone if you know they can cause you substantial harm. And there's no doubt in my mind that she's very capable of doing just that.

"Night walkers are young women, I don't know how they become the way they are or even their true capabilities: But I suspect it is something about being pure of heart or something like that. Your job is to handle spirits that pass through: Good ones go to Heaven or whatever it is that waits for them. Bad ones get blown to oblivion; you maintain balance. You protect the veil, the one that holds back chaos; because spirits accumulate here and gather power. If they gather enough power then they can break through the veil and bring chaos into the 'real' world, and in case you haven't caught on yet: This chaos should never be introduced into the living realm, because of apocalyptic consequences and the like. The warrior part of the Huaka'I Po legend comes from the fact you fight against the evil that comes from beyond or the veil or settles in the Gateway."

Seriously, she has obviously spent too much time thinking about these things: But if I get out of here and can't find a job then I am writing a novel. I'm sure I've earned the right to pull a bit of plagiarism. Plus, who'd believe the crazy woman? The unsettling thing is that somehow I do trust her, my gut tightens at the sincerity in her voice: And all this veil talk brings me back to my nightmare. And to think that was only this morning.

No. No. No. This isn't real, it's obviously my trauma frazzled brain trying to find a line of reasoning between my fucked up dream and everything else that has gone on today. Which I hereby declare to be the most absurd and terrifying day of my life. Her chaos apocalypse theory seems much more fitting in some dystopian blockbuster than twenty-first century California. Plus, who said that my dream was connected to any of this? This green eyed toe rag is playing with my head and I've had it, officially.

"No. This is a lucid hallucination and nothing more, you're obviously some figment of my imagination that's trying to play on my teenage need for escapism: Reality is shit, but I'll deal…so I suggest you run along with your veil, your Gateway and your night walking crap. Because while you fool around putting misplaced faith into an old folk tale; I'm going to be waiting for the fast train back to the real world."

Shock is the prevalent emotion on her face. Did she honestly expect me to go along with all of this? No ma'am. The silence stretches on, her shock fading into deep contemplation: Jaw clenched and her eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Now, I don't want to claim to be psychic since I'm living in camp 'Real World' but I don't think this spells rainbows and sprinkles for me: Maybe I'd gone and broken the golden rule of pissing off the potentially dangerous person, who may or may not be some warped invention that sprung from my own head. That theory is definitely questionable, I'm happy to say even my mind isn't this messed up.

As I take a step backwards, ready to run for the forty thousandth time today: She looks up and I can tell straight away that the forecast for the life of Noelle Mahealani isn't sunshine. She bares her teeth like some kind of wild animal, her emerald eyes glittering dangerously and before I can even think to react she pounces. I throw my hands up, idiotically, like I would when I was a child and I'd fall over. Obviously, I'll be getting more than scraped palms this time. There's nothing left to do but to close my eyes and hope it's over and done with quickly. What a way to die, brutally murdered by a rabid stranger who suffers from some serious mental disorder.

Weirdly the pain I was expecting never comes, maybe she likes to tease her victims before killing I open my eyes and it's like I've fallen into the Star Wars universe or something: I'm surrounded by a freaking force field. A pale lilac force field; I can't help but compare it to the orbs from old re-runs of Charmed I spend far too much time watching as a child. You know, when it's socially acceptable to believe in magic. Which is kind of ironic now that I'm sixteen and definitely seeing some kind of magic: Seriously though, did this come from? My inner thoughts need to pushed to one side right now, because the crazy lady is still present and judging by the expression on her face: She's feeling particularly murderous as she circles me like a dog herding sheep. Just my luck.

I keep my eyes trained on her, thanking Jesus and Allah that the freaky purple barrier is still in place, sliding my dance bag from my shoulder. If it comes to a fight then I'm taking this bitch with me somehow. Trying to recall those stupid self-defense classes I'd taken last summer. The key is hitting her as hard as possible in the temple and then while she's counting sheep in la la land, I run like a bitch. Simplicity is genius. I draw my shoulder back, ready to swing my bag with as much force as I can muster which isn't that much sadly but before I can put any plan into action. She strikes.

As soon as her hand connects with the shield there's a sound like a gunshot. The lilac darkens to a violet hue, and the woman who's been harassing me is sent flying through the air. Hitting the stark white wall with a tremendous thud before slumping to the floor and staying there: Completely motionless. Now is not the time to freak out, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to freak out: Number one, that whole shebang was awesome. Number two, that was impossible and number three, there is a high chance that I've just killed the only person who can get me out of here or explain what the floof just happened.

Before I go down the long and winding road, final destination being either complete mental breakdown or imprisonment; I hear a groan. Foolishly, I run over to the woman who I'm pretty sure just tried to turn me into a victim of grievous bodily harm. As soon as I step outside the boundary of the 'shield' it dissipates into a stream of purple light and floats into me. Into me, as if it came from me: Which it didn't because I'm not a freaking witch or anything.

And none of this is real. While I'm having an identity crisis, which I think may be my fifth or sixth of the day, green eyes bursts out laughing which is highly inappropriate. The menace in her eyes replaced with mirth, and when she spots my shocked expression her laughs get even louder: Seeing as I was expecting her to you know, still want to kill me. She smirks, as smug as Lydia was when she passed her PSAT's at the end of freshman year.

"What was it you were saying again? About not being a Night Walker, old folk tales and none of this being real?"

I can't even make a witty response to her sarcastic tone because if we're being frank: She's really got me there.

* * *

_**Now, let's get reviewing people...**_

_**Oh, and a little thing: I've plotted out this story until the beginning of 3B, and I'm pretty sure I have enough tricks up my sleeve to ensure this doesn't become like a lot of the other OC/Canon character stories. As for that, any idea who you imagine Noelle with?**_

**_Plus, as you have probably noticed: My grammar is awful! There's a reason I chose English Lit at A level over English Language; so if there's anyone willing to be a beta and help me out. I would be eternally grateful._**


	4. Gateway II: Fight then Flight

_**So, once again a big thank you to everyone that is reading: I'm really enjoying bringing Noelle to life and I can't wait to start with the canon timeline. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to ensure that Noelle doesn't become too predictable, and makes sure that sometimes she is doing something entirely different but hopefully crucial to the Teen Wolf plot.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf; I've made peace with that fact.**_

* * *

Well since the whole throwing my captor, who may not be my captor after all, into the wall; I've had to kind of learn to accept that some freaky stuff is going down and this green eyed woman is the only one who seems to have any answers. And what does she want, before she gives me any answers? For me to help her learn how to 'pass on'. You know, nothing too difficult at all, it should be like a walk in the park. Please note the sarcasm.

So far, our progress in 'operation gets her gone and get me home' is that we think that opening one the millions of doors is the key. And somehow, it's my job to find the door that leads to the 'other side'. I genuinely believe that I'd have more luck finding a needle in a haystack or some other silly comparison that reads 'I've got no freaking chance'.

Why I would be able to find the one door in a million that leads where she wants to go? Anyone care to enlighten me as to what she thinks happened? I made purple lights appear from nowhere and when they disappeared back into me they decided to bring a shit tonne of ancient knowledge about this Night Walker business? I internally downloaded a freaking instruction manual? No, I'm just seriously confused about the whole thing.

But my questions remain unanswered. It's like now that she's managed to convince me that I'm a freak, and that I'm going to need a lot of therapy, she's decided to become tight lipped and broody. Even broodier than before, like Edward Cullen with a vagina. There's no more 'legend amongst legend' stuff or an explanation as to why my life seems to be slowly becoming a straight to DVD fantasy film. We just walk down this never ending hallway, and any time I say anything she either shushes me or pretends not to hear at all: Ignorant cow.

"You know, what are we even meant to be doing?"

Once again I am ignored; maybe she's forgotten that I blast her to smithereens. I squint, trying to imagine the purple lights bursting out of me like Jubilee from X-men. Nothing happens and I'm pretty sure I look like I'm constipated. Obviously, these 'powers' of mine aren't working properly. My 'companion' doesn't seem to take any notice, she just keeps walking and pointedly ignoring me apart from the expectant looks she throws my way every time we pass one of the doors. Like I'm going to be struck by some divine feeling that this door is the right one. As of the seven hundredth door we've passed, said feeling is still waiting to make an appearance.

"I'm meant to be passing on, but the incompetent Night Walker assigned to help me can't do her job."

Seriously, is she PMSing or something? She stalked me, begged me to help, I accidentally transported her to this shithole, she begged some more, attacked me, finally convinced me that maybe I could help and now she's getting snarky. Bitch. Why should I even help? I could find my way home, maybe, and that definitely beats having to tolerate this sourpuss. If only the purple light thingy could come back, I'd give her the ass whooping she obviously needs: Knock some of that bad attitude right out of her.

"That's it. I'm done… I'm going home and if you try and stop me, I swear I'll blow you up or something. I'm trying to help and all you do is keep snapping. Yeah, it sucks to be dead and I'm probably not the person you want to spend time with. But you wanna know what else sucks? The fact my life is literally circling the toilet bowel and I discover that I'm some weird ghost whisperer that has purple light inside of her. So find your own bloody door to open."

I turn and begin to walk away; channelling my best friend as I swing my hips in a way that simply screams 'woman on a mission, do not cross because the consequences will be dire'. I hear sourpuss begin to follow me, huffing in indignation: What? If anyone should be doing that, it's me. She grabs my arm and swings me around, adding another bruise to the collection I've amassed today; I'm about to scream in her face when I realise her lips are moving and I hear no sound.

I raise my eyebrow, a teasing smirk on my lips: Now this is a power that will be incredibly useful in my everyday life, muting every idiot that pisses me off. I never knew how much I enjoyed the sound of silence until green eyes starts to scream, silently of course, her pale skin becoming flushed with barely contained rage. I mean, I discover a new and completely irrelevant talent of mine and I'm still clueless as to how to help her.

The pathetic thing is, I think I'd prefer hearing her call me every name under the sun as a new sound begins to echo through the hallway. The lilting melody, the distinctive cadence: That blasted song from my dream. At least that answers the question, all of these things are obviously related. Go figure.

I feel a shiver pass down my spine; my internal organs feel as though they've been turned to ice: The rhythm once again synchronizes with my heartbeat and I can feel a shit storm brewing. The tune seems to diminish and I'm assaulted by an onslaught of whispers: Cries of pain, people begging to be released. Their moans, once soft, get louder and more urgent. Threats become intermingled with the disembodied pleas. Something is wrong, really wrong and then I'm jerked from my position beside the green eyed woman who seems to be frozen as I walk away from her: A prisoner inside my own body.

I want to scream, I want to run away from this spectral puppeteer who seems to have taken complete control of my limbs. The feeling of wrongness steadily increases as I move closer towards my unknown destination. My heart is beating rapidly as I stop outside a door: A door identical to every other door that lines this hallway, but it doesn't take a genius to know that whatever's behind that door needs to stay where it is. My hand is reaching towards the door handle, I try to summon the lilac lights; I try and scream for sourpuss' help but I can do nothing.

Nothing but follow the orders of whatever's decided to use my body as a host; my hand feels as though it's been set alight as it caresses the cold metal door handle. Tears begin streaming down my face, I suffocate in a well of hopelessness as I turn the handle: The door creaks open and then I'm thrown back. I slide down the wall and I burst into tears, what's happening to me? I've tried to play everything off as a joke, this Gateway, being a Night Walker. But it's not: I must be babbling to myself, my chest is heaving with sobs and then I feel someone wrap their arms around me. I scream and lash out.

"Shh…calm down. Its fine, I've shut the door. Calm down, everything's fine. Just breathe, I don't want you going into shock."

Its sourpuss, cradling me in her arms: I would moan that she's touching me but I collapse into her embrace. Comforted by her presence rather than resenting it as I had been only minutes before. I clutch at her leather jacket desperately, hoping she can keep somehow me grounded in reality rather than falling to pieces. I'm helpless and utterly useless as I have no control over my body. Melodramatic or not, it's like I've been violated and all I can do is cry: I find out I have powers and then they abandon me when I need them most. I can feel myself walking an unfamiliar path:The destination being complete hysteria.

I stare at the door, the door I'd opened to see that it was now firmly shut. I should be relieved, but that particular feeling seems to have abandoned me. Instead the feeling of wrongness that had permeated me as I stepped towards it is spiralling out of control. I open my mouth to try and tell the woman holding me against her chest that something is wrong, very wrong, but I can't form words. I just scream, green eyes jumps back but she may as well be invisible right now as I stare transfixed at the door.

Black liquid is trickling from the edges of the doorway; like a black paint spreading across the pristine walls. Across the wall it forms some kind of symbol that seems familiar, before it separates from the wall completely. The black elixir hanging in the air, growing in mass until it eventually becomes humanoid in shape. It feels as though the process is taking forever, but it's only been seconds. I just point at it; for once I'm completely speechless as well as helpless.

"Why thank you Huaka'I Po, it's been too long."

Green eyes is pushing me backwards while she stands in front of me protectively, an instinctive reaction to the sound of its voice: Guttural hisses, however cliche it sounds there is no part of me that doesn't believe that this is the sound of death. I stumble clumsily away from whatever this thing is: My eyes remaining glued on the creature that is standing there. It has no discernable eyes but I know his attention is fixed firmly on me; I can feel his sick pleasure as he sees my face twisted in terror. It makes no attempt to follow us, leaning its misshapen head to the side as if to observe us like ia predator would its prey.

We begin moving more quickly, or more aptly: Green eyes is dragging me away quicker while I just stare blankly at the black mass. It flicks what would've been an arm if it were human and tendrils of the black liquid shoot from where the hand would be; the ooze splashing against the walls, trailing along the hallway. Heading towards us. My companion must have noticed as she finally breaks into a run, dragging me along behind her.

"You've got to run, I'll distract it okay? Night Walkers are meant to be protected. Please just get out of here"

I don't understand what's happening, everything is happening too quickly, until green eyes pushes me in front of her and takes off sprinting towards the thing. Before she can even get close, the black liquid scarring the once unspoiled walls leaps from the wall and slashes into the only person I know in this fucked up place. The scarlet of her blood splashes against the wall and floors. The creature laughs, the sound so sinister I physically recoil: Its mirthless laughter seems to echo inside my head, becoming screams of pain and wails of grief. I just cover my ears to try and muffle the harrowing sound.

I fall to my knees, a myriad of emotions that are slowly becoming all too familiar settle over me: Emptiness, hopelessness and a grim resignation. My eyes fall onto the woman who sacrificed herself for nothing, lying eerily still in a pool of her own blood after her futile attempt at trying to protect me: The girl who has done nothing but moan, refuse to help her and even attacked her. This being of darkness stalks past the woman who was trying to protect me, kicking her lifeless body from its path.

"Little wolf, you can't protect the Huaka'I Po. Not against me. And what about you, why aren't you fighting spirit walker? The despair radiating from you is like sitting before a fire on a cold winter's night. But I'd much rather watch the light fade from your eyes, that glimmer of hope as you fight for your life."

It takes a deep breathe, hissing in what would've been ecstasy if it were human. A ghastly odour hits my nostrils as the fiend stalks closer, the smell of rotting flesh. I'm trembling as I count down the seconds until this thing will be upon me like the plague. I am trying to think of one final quip before I bite the dust, but my notoriously sharp tongue is as broken as my spirit seems to be.

My eyes trail to the broken body, he called her 'Little Wolf'; seems much more accurate than any of the thoughtless nicknames I'd used. She'd selflessly protected me, like she would one of her own; one of her pack. A true warrior, and I thought that was meant to be my job. Her earlier words seem to echo inside my head '_This chaos should never be introduced into the living realm, because of apocalyptic consequences and the like. The warrior part of the Huaka'I Po legend comes from the fact you fight against the evil that comes from beyond or the veil or settles in the Gateway._'

This black thing is that chaos. And once it's finished me off, there is no doubt in my mind that it'll pass into the real world and wreak havoc there: Danny, Lydia, Mom, Dad, everyone will have to live through the 'apocalyptic consequences' because I was unable to do my job. 'Little Wolf' is gone and now the only thing standing between this thing and an ignorant world. And what good am I? The girl who falls to pieces?

My fingers begin to tingle as I think of what could happen to everyone now that I've unleashed this thing from its prison, curling my hands into fists as they become coated in a pulsing purple light. I might not know how to do this Night Walker thing, but I may as well try: Even if it is futile. I throw out my hands imagining a ball of this purple light streaming straight into the chaos, this time mental visualisation seems to be the key as a sphere of light crashes straight into the chest of the creature.

My conviction, which was in tatters merely seconds ago, returns with fervour. I clamber to my feet, adrenaline coursing through my body. Time seems to come to a still as the creature is sent streaming through the air; but before it can rise again I've thrown another ball of pulsating energy. Everything seems to pour from me as I scream, all of my frustrations manifesting as balls of energy which I throw at the dark being continuously. It screams, the sound so inhumane I almost stop but I grit my teeth and scream as light erupts from my hands in a continuous stream: I'm pushed backwards from the sheer force of the energy flowing my palms, my hair being tossed lightly by a non-existent wind.

"Please just stop, you've made the nasty thing go away. You're hurting me. Please just stop. PLEASE"

As soon as the beam of light had appeared, it vanishesupon hearing this new voice. Where the creature that had attacked my cohort once lay, a young girl has replaced the malevolent apparition: Curling into herself, hysterical sobs rack through her chest. She couldn't have been any more than seven years old, silky hair the colour of butter pulled into bunches and wearing bright pink dungarees. Was she possessed by the chaos? She just continues to sob, crying for her Mom and Dad. I really empathised with her current situation, right now I want nothing more than to be home and be protected by my parents.

"Shh, it's okay. You're going to be fine, I've made the bad man go away: Just get up and I'll help you."

I walk over, trying to keep my voice soft like my Mom did when she used to come into my bedroom at night to find me in tears over my latest nightmare. Taking slow deliberate steps, I hold my hand out: I don't want to scare this little girl any more than I've scared myself. Gritting my teeth I stay standing, my hand still extended: In actuality I want nothing more than to curl up and cry alongside her, but I doubt that will be helpful.

Slowly the girl lifts her head, and I scramble back in horror. While expecting to see the face of a little girl, I'm confronted with a monstrosity. A twisted grin morphs her face, revealing rows of teeth that are sharpened into points; her eyes appear to have been torn from her skull, replaced with orbs the colour of midnight. She leaps at me, her hands curled into talons as she wraps her tiny hands around my neck.

"Aw, did the little spirit warrior fall for my little trick?"

Bile burns my throat; the sound of her childish coo is distorted by the hisses as she laughs manically and I fall backwards as her weight crashes into me. Trying to choke the life out of me, I struggle fruitlessly: Her strength fuelled by the chaos that has consumed her. I reach my hand up and slap her in the face with as much force as I can summon, eliciting a scream of feral rage. As stars begin to dance in my vision I hear another growl; a deep rumbling that resonates throughout the hallway. Looking over, green eyes has managed to get to her feet. Wobbling precariously as she stares at the little demon choking me to death, her eyes livid: Narrowed into slits as she holds herself up against the wall.

"Get your hands off of her you sick, little fuck."

Her voice is strained, blood still pours freely from the open wounds carved into her torso. In that very moment it's as though her strength, and her conviction flows through me as I lift my hands and force them against the temples of the little girl: The darkness of night has been always been conquered by the rising sun. And so I think of everything that's good in my life, everything I don't want to see tainted by chaos: Danny's cheeky grin when he one ups me in our little arguments, the sparkle of intelligence that lingers in Lydia's eyes as she solves a complex chemistry equation, the soothing lull of my mother's voice as she flits around the kitchen whipping up a feast, Dad's silent strength. All of it.

I don't know what's happening but my hands glow lilac and I literally feel my memories lancing into the chaos' consciousness like an arrow of pure light soaring through the darkest night's sky; it wails in immense pain as its form begins to lose shape. The little girl fades into nothing but a black shadow that's suspended in mid-air; instinctively I imagine the shadows being encased. By will alone, I'm able to drag myself to my feet; my throat still sore. Staring directly into the green eyes of the woman who was savaged trying to protect me, I allow my instincts to take control.

"I think it's time for you familiarize yourself with a little something called oblivion. You're welcome."

It sounds ridiculous, but somehow my words have an effect: The shadow pulses, the form growing and shrinking rapidly until it explodes. Giving way to a bright light, I shield my eyes as the light expands; flowing against the walls of the Gateway. Black marks vanish as the light washes away any signs of the chaos' presence. As the light fades, relief ignites inside my stomach: Somehow, someway I did it. It was a complete stroke of luck, but I managed to fight back the darkness. I look over, expecting what he called the 'Little Wolf' to share in my joy.

She's collapsed against the wall, her blood remains pooled at her feet: It seems as though the bright light wasn't able to vanquish all symptoms of the darkness' presence. I scramble over, kneeling in front of her: Her green eyes are unfocussed as she stares at me, a genuine smile curls her lips and it's as though a light has been switched on inside of her. I'm taken back by her beauty for a moment, so much more open that her previous demeanor. I whisper sweet nothings; hoping my Night Walker 'instincts' kick in again and I can give her what she wanted since we met. For her to pass on to the afterlife. Somehow attuned to my internal frustration as nothing seems to happen, she lets out a sarcastic scoff.

"Just my luck right? Dying twice in one day, on two different planes."

Her voice comes out raspy, as if her lungs are slowly flooding with fluid. I don't know why it hurts so much, like someone has punched their hand through my chest and decided to rip my heart out. I know she's dying, the blood makes it pretty obvious; I don't know what I'm expecting, but so many impossible things seem to have happened today. Is it wrong for me to expect one more? To be able to do my actual job, it's a proven fact that I've cried more today than ever before in my life as I feel the sting in my eyes which precedes tears.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what I thought would happen: I was expecting you to just fade, and…"

Words fail me. What do you say to a dying person? A dying person, who is dying because they had tried to protect you? Because they expected you to be able to do all these amazing things and you just can't. I put my head in my hands, at a loss for what to do: Should I just sit here until she dies? Try opening another door and see if this time I manage not to get possessed by an evil entity. I feel something as light as a feather trail across my cheekbone, I look up and she's still trying to comfort me: Her green eyes seem sad, not because I've failed her but because she's about to witness me break apart again.

"It's not your fault, I'm sure you'll learn what to do. It's reassuring to know you can protect yourself, so don't be afraid…"

Her speech is garbled. Her breathe wheezy as she tries to force the words out, I shake my head so she stops breathing. Hoping that if she saves her breath for long enough than a miracle will happen, but it's doubtful. As morbid as it sounds, I can see the light fading from her eyes and her life force disappearing like air from a balloon. There really is nothing I can do, but wait.

"I'm so sorry."

There's nothing more I can say. I grasp her hand, unable to help her pass on but ready to comfort her in these final moments before I guess her spirit is lost forever. She takes a shuddering breathe, and then nothing. I cry, pulling the corpse into my arms, I just cry. Until I begin to feel the body fading away; her body is ensconced in a opalescent glow. The physical body is disappearing before my eyes, until it is gone completely and arms wrap around nothing.

"Now that my sarcastic friend is how you make somebody pass on."

I scream, falling backwards: It's green eyes, well. Her ghost? Or whatever. A shit eating grin makes its way onto her face. I did it. She's actually moved on, not that I'm particularly aware of how I did it. But I can't help but be relieved that I'm not some kind of defective Night Walker. I jump up and try to hug her, my arms pass through her as easily as a knife passes through hot butter: My shocked expression cause her to laugh. It confuses me that as a spirit, she doesn't seem to be as cold. It's as though dying has somehow freed her from whatever haunted her back in the real world. And for that I'm thankful, more so for whoever might be waiting in the afterlife; green eyes isn't the easiest person to get along with.

"You know, I'm looking forward to telling everyone that I was the first charge of the newest Night Walker. How I helped her discover her kick ass powers, but I might keep it quiet how my passage into the afterlife seems like something from a Twilight novel."

I would've been shocked, at her casual reference to pop culture or the overall change in her demeanour. But I'm more sad than anything, it's as soon as the hard shell has disappeared then she's got to go before I can get to know her: The person who as she appropriately put it, helped me discover my 'kick ass powers'. Why does she have to go? Couldn't she stay here in the Gateway and help me out or something. Every superhero needs a side kick, right? A soft sigh escapes her lips, as if she knows the direction of my thoughts as she lifts her hand to hover above my shoulder.

"My brother would kill me if he heard me saying this, but in the Harry Potter books. Dumbledore says something about death being the next, big adventure and what can I say? I'm an adventurer. But you could always try and hit me up on the Ouija board sometime."

I don't know if I'm more shocked at her having read Harry Potter or the fact she made a joke; throughout this whole 'experience' her moods have changed at an alarming pace, but she was mostly moody. It's surreal, seeing this light and buoyant side of 'Little Wolf'. Wouldn't dying make you more inclined to the doom and gloom, I decide to indulge a little of my curiosity.

"Why aren't you sad? You're dead, and you're young. What about all the things you could've done. All the things you'll never get to do?"

It sounds like I'm whinging, but I'm just so confused. What about a husband or kids? What if she was destined to discover a cure for a terminal illness? She just shakes her head softly, folding her arms: Her eyebrow quirked as she considers what to say.

"I'm sad for the people I've left behind, but I've only got my brother and I know he'll be fine. He always is. The rest of my family, they're waiting on the other side: I'm looking forward to seeing them all again. And as for the things I could've done, you'll just have to do them for me: Especially keeping an eye on my brother. But mainly, please stay safe: Now that I'm a spirit it feels fitting to say that dangerous times are coming for those in Beacon Hills, just be ready."

Ready for what? A brother? What the hell, she can't just die and hit me with that wrecking ball of knowledge. Dangerous times? I've only just become a Night Walker and I'm already considering an early retirement. Obviously death, doesn't change everything: She's still unwilling to give me answers. How can I look out for her brother if I don't know who it is? I don't even know who she is.

The girl's spirit begins to fade. She smiles and closes her eyes as if she's about to fall asleep, when I reach out. Somehow I'm able to grab hold of her, my hands glowing with their violet light. Her eyes open in shock as my powers anchor her to this world, rather than letting her go on.

"I'm Noelle, by the way."

If she won't tell me anything else, she may as well tell me her name: So I can write a letter to whoever turned me into a Night Walker, thanking them for sending green eyes into my life. There's no doubt in my mind that without her, I would probably be dead. She just smiles, more serene than she'd ever been when she had an actual body.

"I know, I was listening while you rambled on earlier. My name is Laura, Laura Hale."

The name sounds familiar, but before I can say anything or remember where I know the name from: she's gone. Off on her next, big adventure and it's not until I'm standing in the middle of the Gateway completely alone that I recall that like an idiot I never asked how I'm meant to get home. Before I can even begin to panic or have yet another breakdown, lilac lights surround me before I fade into nothingness. Hopefully this is the last time this whole passing out crap will be happening for a long while!

* * *

_**This is a quick chapter that I hated writing, but I hope you enjoyed it.**_

_**IMPORTANT**** This is the end of what I thought of the prologue/prequel to the whole story. After this we'll be heading into Teen Wolf storylines and meeting all the characters, which I'm totally stoked for.**_

_**I'm almost through with the next chapter: The one I'd begun before I'd deleted the original story...so, REVIEW! Goddamit ;)**_

_**Until next time**_

_**-Ornella xoxo**_


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